


Connected Successfully

by tinycecropia



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinycecropia/pseuds/tinycecropia
Summary: It's 1998. Chanyeol Park owns an independent bookstore, but his business is threatened when a new chain store opens down the block. Meanwhile, he keeps up an email correspondence with a man who he might be in love with, except he doesn't even know his name. A fic based on the plot of 1998 Tom Hanks classic "You've Got Mail".





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching you’ve got mail again and well! Here we are. The plot is entirely based off the movie, and some of the dialogue is word-for-word. the biggest difference is that I didn’t want to make Kyungsoo as mean as tom hanks lmao! Here's the screenplay which I absolutely don’t own and which Nora and Delia Ephron wrote based on a novel by Nikolaus Laszlo: https://sfy.ru/?script=youve_got_mail. Am I doing this right?

**October, 1998**

The sun was streaming in through Chanyeol’s windows, laying a golden sheet over his sleeping frame. His _formerly_ sleeping frame. His alarm beeped shrilly and he silenced it with a practiced hand shooting out from the warmth of the blanket. He ran his fingers through his bedhead, pushing it out of his eyes, and stretched his arms over his head. 

He stepped into his slippers and pulled his hoodie tighter around him at the new fall chill, but he was already smiling as he made his way to the kitchen. It was for two reasons: the thought of the walk to work amongst the changing leaves, and the fact that it was time to check his e-mail.

He booted up his laptop and made himself a cup of coffee while the machine took its sweet time. When he sat down in front of the screen holding his steaming mug, Chanyeol logged in to America Online--his screenname was a _Jane Eyre_ pun, which he thought was cute-- and watched the progress of the loading bar eagerly. The image of the little running guy reminded Chanyeol of himself: excited to reach his inbox. The dial tone and other computer noises whirred until he was connected, and the computer pleasantly informed him that he had mail. 

 

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_  
_Re: Applepie_

_Applepie is my dog. She’s a rescue, and I’m not sure what breeds she is, but she looks like a mix of chow chow and Siberian husky. She’s 10 years old this fall. I’m always feeding her bits of my food, I really can’t help it. I just feel like she deserves it. She works so hard — sleeps almost all day. She loves the streets of New York as much as I do, although she likes to eat bits of pizza and bagel off the sidewalk, and I prefer to buy them. Don’t you love New York in the fall? I’d send you a bouquet of chrysanthemums if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms._

 

By the time Chanyeol had finished reading the message he was smiling so big his eyes were all scrunched. He tried to imagine the old fluffy dog lumbering along the sidewalk and picking at bits of food, while her owner pulled her gently along by her leash—but that’s where Chanyeol was stopped short. He had no idea what NY152 looked like. He began to type his response, still smiling.

 

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_  
_Re: friends_

_I like to start my notes to you as if we're already in the middle of a conversation. It feels like we’re old friends, don’t you think? But there’s always so much more to learn! Applepie sounds perfect — I love dogs. I love all animals! I used to have all sorts when I was little. I really liked geckos and frogs, but I was always disappointed that I couldn’t cuddle them like I could a dog._

_You know, even though we met in a chatroom, I feel like I’ve known you for ages. Every day I wonder what you’ll say. When I go online my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: you've got mail. I hear nothing, not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you._

 

Chanyeol felt like singing on his walk to work—and he did. He sang softly along to the CD that spun in his Discman, which was tucked into a pocket in his backpack. Today he was listening to a noisy alternative band. His smile seemed like a permanent fixture on his face.

When he reached the storefront, Yixing was already waiting outside, leaning up against the door. Chanyeol slipped his headphones off his ears and let them hang around his neck.

“Hey, Yixing. It’s a beautiful day. Isn’t it the most beautiful day?”

Yixing glanced around at the store as if he’d been missing the beauty by not looking close enough. The storefront itself was painted a deep foresty green, and the windows were packed with a mixture of stuffed animals and books of every size and colour. The cheerful sign proclaimed it to be “The Shop Around The Corner; your family-owned bookstore since 1956”.

“Sure,” Yixing said. “I guess so!”

Behind them on the street one cab narrowly missed colliding with another, and the air was filled suddenly with squeaking brakes and obscenities yelled out of both windows. 

“Don’t you love New York in the fall?” Chanyeol asked while his key got stuck in the lock, as usual. With a dreamy smile he jiggled the key until it finally clicked into place. Yixing continued to look confused.

Inside the shop Chanyeol switched on the lights, illuminating the black-and-white checked floor and the shelves stacked with children’s books. There was a rocking chair tucked into the corner where Chanyeol would read to the eager kids after lunch. It was surrounded by beanbag chairs, and the rocking chair itself was currently inhabited by a gigantic teddy bear. Behind the counter hung two framed photos. One portrait of a woman smiling cheerfully; this was Chanyeol’s mother, the previous owner of the shop, who had run it for thirty-two years before her death. The second image featured the same woman, this time twirling a small boy in a handmade ballerina’s tutu. Chanyeol. 

Now thirty years old, Chanyeol-the-shop-owner tucked his headphones into his bag before placing it behind the counter. 

“What’s up with you?” Yixing asked.

“Nothing,” Chanyeol said with a shrug. Yixing narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment.

“Ah—you’re in love!”

“In love? No. I mean, yes! Of course, with Frank. I’m practically living with Frank.”

Frank, Chanyeol’s boyfriend, had actually just been talking Chanyeol’s ear off about how computers signaled the end of Western civilization the night before. Frank was even taller than Chanyeol himself, and reedy. He looked like a university professor who was perpetually late to teach a class (including the harried expression). Chanyeol gave his head a little shake before changing the topic to business. 

“Do you think we can get our holiday mailers out this week?”

“By Monday, I promise. I have an essay due Friday—but don’t try to distract me. What’s going on with you? Seriously!”

Chanyeol hesitated, but he knew that everything was bound to come out eventually. He wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions. And Yixing was a great listener.

“Is it infidelity if you’re involved with someone through e-mail?” 

“Have you had sex?” Yixing asked simply. Chanyeol flushed.

“No, I don’t even know him,” he said while avoiding Yixing’s eyes.

“I meant like, cyber sex.”

“N-no!”

Yixing shrugged. Chanyeol floundered to explain himself.

“We just talk,” he said.

“About what?”

“Oh, you know. Music. Books. Chrysanthemums.” At the sight of Yixing’s confused face Chanyeol waved his hand in a dismissive way. “Forget it. I don’t know his name, what he does for work, or where he lives in the city.”

“He could be anyone,” Yixing said in a slightly awed tone. “He could be the next person that walks into the shop. He could be—”

The bell above the door jingled as if on cue, and a small man who was dressed a bit too formally for working part time at a children’s bookshop walked in.

“It could be Junmyeon!” Yixing finished, laughing. 

“What could be me?” Junmyeon asked, dropping his bag on the floor behind the counter and pushing his wireframe glasses up on his nose bridge. 

“Chanyeol’s online boyfriend.”

“Online…I thought you were dating Frank?” 

“I am dating Frank,” Chanyeol said, exasperated. “I don’t have an online boyfriend, it’s just a guy I talk to. Online. A friend.”

“But he _likes_ him,” Yixing added. 

Junmyeon shot an interested look at Chanyeol, who waved his hands in the air.

“This conversation is done! I’m sure you guys have something to do. Somewhere.”

**

Kyungsoo Do’s walk to work was exceptional on this October morning. The leaves had just started to turn and he smiled, noticing patches of orange or red blooming amidst the large swaths of green. The neighbourhood his business took him to was lovely, quaint. He looked forward to taking his dog out for a walk after he was done with the meeting. Applepie was slow, but she wagged her tail the entire time she walked beside him.

Kyungsoo arrived at the building he had been making his way towards. It took up more room than anything else on the street, hulking, dominating, but it was currently under construction. He ducked into the temporary entrance and was met with Baekhyun Byun.

“Hey, Kyungsoo. I was just talking to a woman about the shelves, they’re late because the shipment of pine had beetles.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kyungsoo asked, looking around. The place was still unrecognizable as a store. Various workers swarmed around the two of them and the sound of construction was loud in their ears. 

“The electrician called too, she said she can’t be here today because the truck got in a small accident, nothing to worry about, but definitely not able to get here until tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. Hey, is the electrician here?” 

Baekhyun sighed.

“I just told you that she can’t come until tomorrow. Did you listen to anything I said?”

Kyungsoo snapped to attention.

“Sorry, Baekhyun. I was totally distracted.”

“I can tell.” Baekhyun put his chin in his hands and smiled up at Kyungsoo. “Watcha thinking about?”

Kyungsoo smiled to himself.

“About…the beat of my heart and the streets of New York.” Baekhyun raised his eyebrows. 

“What? Man, that’s gay.” Kyungsoo laughed and shoved Baekhyun’s shoulder playfully. 

“Thanks, I know.”

“Did you get engaged?”

“Wh—what?” Kyungsoo asked, taken aback. How did Baekhyun know about his whole…online relationship thing? And why would he think they’d gotten _engaged?_

“You and Patricia?”

Oh. Right.

“No, not engaged,” Kyungsoo said firmly. “Definitely not.”

“I thought you liked her.”

“I—um. I do. I did?” Kyungsoo winced at his own uncertain tone. Baekhyun side eyed him.

“But?”

“I mean, there’s a guy I’ve been talking to.”

Baekhyun smiled wider, leaning in. This was his forte. 

“And?” He prompted. 

Kyungsoo bit his bottom lip nervously (a habit he wished he could quit). He wanted to tell someone about the whole story, and that someone would certainly be Baekhyun, one of his closest-friends-turned-coworkers ever since he recommended Baekhyun to head this project. But now was not the time or the place.

“And nothing,” Kyungsoo said decisively. “Are we still on schedule?” 

Deflating a bit, Baekhyun switched back to formal mode when he answered. 

“Yep, we open in two weeks. We should put up ‘coming soon’ signs, yeah?”

Kyungsoo ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair with a sigh. With the signs came publicity, of course. With publicity came the inevitable neighbourhood upset. 

“The minute people see the signs we’ll have protestors,” Kyungsoo said. Baekhyun nodded.

“People picketing the Big Bad Chain Store for ruining the soul of their neighbourhood. I know. But we’ll seduce them with our selection and discounts.”

“Right, sure. We sell cheap books so more people can buy books.”

“Right!” Baekhyun said happily, patting Kyungsoo on the back. 

When Kyungsoo’s mobile phone rang in his pocket it startled him. He rushed to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Kyungsoo,” the familiar voice boomed on the other side of the line. “How’s progress?”

“Everything looks good so far, dad,” Kyungsoo said quietly.

It had always been like that; something about his dad made Kyungsoo want to speak quietly, to disappear, to avoid being seen or heard. Now that he worked for the family business he did his best to combat this instinct. He cleared his throat.

“Dad, I’m a bit worried about the neighbourhood reception—”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing those people can do about the store. Plus, they’ll eat it up eventually. What’s the competition now?”

Unsurprised but still disappointed about being cut off, Kyungsoo resigned himself to listing off information.

“Well, the store a few blocks down just closed, and we’re buying their stock of architecture books.”

Kyungsoo’s dad laughed and congratulated him on the defeat of another competitor. 

“We’re well on our way to being the only book store around,” his father said. 

“Well, there’s the children’s bookstore. The Shop Around The Corner?”

“I’ve heard of the place. I’m sure it’ll be easy to get such a niche shop to close down in no time, don’t you think?”

Kyungsoo’s stomach squirmed, but he agreed. He was about to end the conversation before his father chimed in again.

“Kyungsoo, will you do me a favour and watch Junho for us this weekend? His mother and I are going out of town.”

“Um, sure.”

His half brother Junho was the child of his father and his fourth wife. If he was honest, Kyungsoo took every opportunity to watch him, if only to get him away from his mom’s stiflingly conservative family and let the kid have some fun for a change. 

He finally ended the call with his dad and returned his attention to the store-to-be, and Baekhyun, who was engaged in conversation with one of the workers. Kyungsoo pushed his worries out of his mind and chose to think instead about what he and Junho would do that weekend. Applepie would be thrilled to have someone else to play with, even if her play consisted mostly of begging for food. 

**

The new store was more than large enough to make passers-by crane their neck to take in; Yixing, Junmyeon, and Chanyeol were doing exactly that. They looked up at the hulking figure of DO Books. There were two fresh signs towering above them, which read:

_‘DO BOOKS’ COMING SOON!_

_JUST AROUND THE CORNER!_

“This is it,” Junmyeon said sadly. “The beginning of the end. Everywhere a D.O. Books opens, independent bookstores go out of business.”

“I know,” Chanyeol said quietly. 

“That bookstore a few blocks down has already closed,” Yixing chimed in.

“Exactly,” Junmyeon said. 

“No, you know what?” Chanyeol spun around to face his friends. “This has nothing to do with us. It’s totally impersonal.”

“But they discount,” Yixing reminded him.

“But they don’t offer any service,” Chanyeol responded with passion. “We do. This can be a good thing! The whole area could become, like, the Book District. We fill a niche, they fill a niche. Everybody gets along.”

“Right,” Yixing agreed, sounding about half convinced. Junmyeon just made a pained noise.

**

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small one. Well, I mean, it’s good, but small in scope. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So goodnight, void._

**

**November, 1998**

Kyungsoo’s father had picked a good weekend to go out of town, it turned out, as the weather was mild and there was a fall street fair being put on. Junho was more excited for the street fair than Kyungsoo could remember being excited about…anything. He was glad to see his father (and his wife) hadn’t repressed all Junho’s joie de vivre. 

As his brother ran from booth to booth, making friends all the way, Kyungsoo followed along as well as he could. 

“Kyungsoo, can we get caramel apples?”

“Sure,” Kyungsoo said with a smile. He ruffled Junho’s hair and the five year old laughed a pitchy laugh. 

A few minutes later Kyungsoo was asking a passer-by to kindly hold their caramel apples as they “competed” in a strength game; Junho swung the hammer with confidence against the target, and he hit the bell at the top. Kyungsoo pretended to swing with all his might, but really only tapped the target, and as a result he only reached halfway up the scale. Junho was ecstatic to have beaten him. 

An hour later, with matching cat-whiskers painted on their faces, Kyungsoo and Junho were on their way home when they happened to pass a small independent bookstore. The sign out front claimed that it was “storytime at 3:30”. 

“Can we listen to the story?” Junho asked. Seeing as he was already pulling Kyungsoo by the jacket towards the store, Kyungsoo agreed.

The bookstore was charming, Kyungsoo admitted, with its vintage checkered floor and its abundance of stuffed animals. It was right in the neighbourhood of their new location, though, which meant its future was less stable than the owners probably liked to admit. Kyungsoo felt a familiar twist of guilt in his gut.

Junho made his way over to the beanbag chairs that were collected around a rocking chair in the back corner. Kyungsoo settled himself in behind Junho, leaning against the shelf beside him. They had arrived just in time for a man to settle into the rocking chair with a book; Kyungsoo’s eyes were drawn to the man immediately. He was young. Kyungsoo had never been good at guessing people's’ ages, but he might say late twenties. He was big, all shoulders and long legs, but his mannerisms were delicate, like a small person in a tall person’s body. And he was very pretty. 

He was also very good at telling stories. He captured the kids attention immediately, and they sat rapt while he read. He even did voices for the different characters. Kyungsoo watched from his spot tucked behind the kids with a smile so wide it made his eyes scrunch into crescents. 

Shortly after the reading finished Kyungsoo had somehow found himself in a conversation with a very earnest employee. He was showing off a gold-embellished copy of a children’s tale and talking about how each illustration was hand-done. 

“So that’s why it’s so expensive?” Kyungsoo asked bluntly. 

“Um,” the small, bespectacled man faltered. “That’s why it’s worth so much, yeah.”

A look to his left told Kyungsoo that his brother was still engaged in a lively conversation with the pretty man who had been reading. Kyungsoo excused himself from his own conversation and went to join Junho, who was in the middle of saying how he wanted every book in the store.

“That might be an awful lot for your dad to buy at one time,” the man said, shooting a smile at Kyungsoo, who blushed faintly. 

“That’s not my dad,” Junho said simply. “That’s my brother.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have assumed. I thought that maybe the cat whiskers were hereditary.” 

Kyungsoo remembered suddenly that he had his face painted like a cat’s. He made an involuntary embarrassed noise as he brought a hand up to his cheek—as if he could cover the whiskers. The man laughed loudly.

“I’m Chanyeol Park. I own this store.”

Kyungsoo shook the hand that was offered to him. He tried his hardest to will down his blush.

“I’m—just call me Kyungsoo.”

Junho interrupted by tugging on the hem of Kyungsoo’s jacket. 

“Kyungsoo, can I get these two?” he asked. The books he held were chaptered, too advanced for him to read alone, which meant Kyungsoo would be reading aloud that night. He smiled at the image.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I can ring them through for you,” Chanyeol said happily. “This series is fantastic. There’s tons of them, too, so you’ll have lots to read,” he directed at Junho. “You guys will come back, right?”

“Of course!”Junho said. Kyungsoo agreed with a smile.

“This is why we’re never going to go under,” Chanyeol said over his shoulder to someone who must have been another employee. “Our customers are loyal.”

The second man looked up from what he had been concentrating on with a vacant look on his face. 

“Hm?”

“Never mind, Yixing.” Returning his gaze to Kyungsoo, Chanyeol added “There’s a D.O. Books opening down the road.”

Kyungsoo felt as if a cold liquid had been dumped down the collar of his shirt. This was not the kind of conversation he wanted to be having with such a sweet, charming, and attractive guy. He bit his bottom lip while he tried to think of something, anything to say.

“Um, I think it’s pronounced ‘Doh’ Books. Like the surname.”

Kyungsoo cursed himself inwardly. He never _decided_ on pretending he didn’t own the very store they were talking about. It happened regardless of what Kyungsoo decided or did not decide. 

“Oh, maybe you’re right,” Chanyeol said. 

“That _is_ how you say it,” Junho said with authority. “I know because my dad and brother—”

He was suddenly cut off by Kyungsoo loudly and animatedly suggesting that Junho pick out any stuffed animal to take home with them. Met with an unexpected treat, Junho scampered off with a sparkle in his eyes that made Chanyeol laugh. 

“The world is not driven by discounts,” Chanyeol said thoughtfully. “I’ve been in business forever. I started helping my mother here after school when I was six years old. I used to watch her; it wasn’t that she was selling books, it was that she was helping people become whoever they were going to turn out to be. When you read a book as a child it becomes part of your life in a really unique way—ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“It’s okay,” Kyungsoo said quickly, “you…that was lovely.”

Chanyeol’s wide smile made Kyungsoo’s stomach flip. 

“I hope I’ll see you soon, Kyungsoo.”

“Me too.”

“Me too!” Junho chimed in. He was holding a large plush likeness of a goldfish. “Can I get this one?” 

**

Chanyeol was only moderately interested in going to Vince Mancini’s publication party. He always seemed to find that the crowd of writers and journalists in Vince’s circle were…well, pretentious. Frank, on the other hand, was greatly looking forward to it. He always did well in the kind of conversations that happened at these parties. 

For the first part of the night Chanyeol followed Frank around Vince’s beautiful apartment, hovering and trying to keep up with whatever Frank was talking about—machinery, mostly. Typewriters, especially. The dangers of the internet, of course. Chanyeol thought about NY152. He wished he could talk to him in person.

While he was grabbing a drink Chanyeol noticed a familiar figure with close-cropped black hair: his customer from the other day, who had the cute little brother and the cuter smile. He looked handsome in a burnt-orange turtleneck and brown corduroys. Maybe Chanyeol had finally found somebody he could talk to. 

“Hello!” 

“Oh, hi,” Kyungsoo responded quietly. He gave Chanyeol a small smile. 

“Remember me, from the bookstore?”

“Of course I remember you.” His voice seemed to soften a bit. Chanyeol smiled at the implication that he was memorable. 

“How’s your brother?” he asked.

“Good, he’s good. I have to—” he pointed vaguely in the direction of a group of people engaged in conversation. “I have to deliver this. I have a very thirsty date.” Chanyeol snorted. 

“It’s Kyungsoo, right?”

“And you’re Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo said before slipping delicately away and disappearing into the crowd. 

Chanyeol was a bit confused. Kyungsoo hadn’t been nearly as willing to talk as he was the last time they met. Maybe he didn’t like parties very much; so much for Chanyeol’s saving grace. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Vince himself, looking concerned.

“I can’t believe you were talking to Kyungsoo Do,” the newly-published author said. 

“Kyungsoo…Do? As in—”

“DO Books.”

Chanyeol was struck speechless. After a moment he excused himself politely.

Kyungsoo was hovering at a table in the corner of the room, which was heavy with dishes and dishes of food. His back was to Chanyeol when he approached. 

“Your last name is Do?”

He spun around to face Chanyeol with wide eyes. Caught in the act. 

“…Yes. Kyungsoo Do.”

Kyungsoo held a paper plate full of appetizers. He was biting his bottom lip in a way that would have been very cute if it wasn’t annoying, considering the circumstances. Chanyeol shook his head.

“God, I didn’t realize. I didn’t know who you…were,” Chanyeol finished lamely. 

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t tell you who I was,” Kyungsoo said. He took a loud bite of a carrot stick. 

“You were spying on me, weren’t you? You probably rented a kid to play your brother.” 

Kyungsoo smiled, seemingly in spite of himself. 

“Why would I spy on you?” 

“I’m your competition. Which you know perfectly well or else you wouldn’t have put up that sign; ‘Just around the corner!’”

“The entrance to our store is _around the corner_ from that sign,” Kyungsoo said. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s not the name of the store, it’s the location. Unless you’ve trademarked the phrase?”

Chanyeol huffed. He knew the phrasing wasn’t a coincidence, no matter what anyone said. 

“Look,” Kyungsoo said, “I came into your store because I was spending the day with Junho. Who _is_ my brother. There’s only one place to buy children’s books in the neighbourhood—although that won’t be the case for long—but it was your store, and it is a charming little store. You probably sell $250,000 worth of books a year—”

“How do you know that?” Chanyeol asked suspiciously. Kyungsoo shrugged.

“I’m in the book business.”

“ _I’m_ in the book business,” Chanyeol countered. 

“Right, of course. We’re the soulless bargain store. We don’t care about books, or reading, or readers,” Kyungsoo said sarcastically. “And I was spying on you because I got my soulless hands on a secret printout of the sales figures of a tiny independent bookstore, so I rushed my soulless self over for fear that you’d put me out of business.”

Chanyeol was speechless. That was the most words he had ever heard Kyungsoo say at once, and they weren’t nearly as pleasant as Chanyeol had imagined they could be. 

“What?” Kyungsoo asked upon seeing Chanyeol’s expression. 

“Ah, there you are,” a voice said from Chanyeol’s left—it was Frank, smiling in a way that was out of place in the current conversation. Chanyeol was glad that he wasn’t left to flounder on his own anymore. Chanyeol had always thought that Frank was better with words than he himself was. Which was why he was the journalist, and Chanyeol sold children’s books. 

“Hi, I’m Frank Navasky.” 

“Kyungsoo Do.”

“Kyungsoo Do?” Frank asked. “Enemy of the mid-list novel, destroyer of independent bookshops—tell me, how _do_ you sleep at night?”

“Oh,” a woman cut in suddenly, forcing her way into the conversation. “I use a wonderful over-the-counter drug. Ultrasom. Don’t take the whole thing, just half, and you’ll wake up without even the tiniest hangover.”

The three men stared blankly at her.

“You’re Frank Navasky, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“I am,” Frank said hesitantly.

“Your last piece in the Independent was brilliant. Patricia Eden, Eden Books,” the woman introduced herself, shaking Frank’s hand. She had dark bobbed hair and was wearing a tweed skirt-suit. “Kyungsoo, you should read what this man writes about the evolution of technology. Amazing!”

“This is Chanyeol Park,” Kyungsoo offered, gesturing towards Chanyeol, who narrowed his eyes. But Patricia wasn’t listening. She and Frank were completely consumed with their own conversation. 

“You liked my piece! God, I’m flattered,” Frank said. He was smiling from ear to ear. Chanyeol hadn’t seen him smile like that in ages. “You know you write these things and you think someone’s going to mention them and then a whole week goes by without the phone ringing and you think, you know, ‘I’m a fraud, I’m a failure’—”

Kyungsoo raised his eyebrows and shot Chanyeol a look. Chanyeol understood what he was trying to convey; Frank could get carried away when it came to his work. When Chanyeol tuned back into the conversation Patricia was laughing loudly at something Frank had said. 

“I’m so happy to have finally met you, Frank,” she said. “We _will_ talk. Have you ever thought about doing a book?”

“Oh, sure, it’s passed through my head. Something really relevant for today. Like the Luddite movement in 19th century England.”

Kyungsoo’s brow furrowed in a look of utter bewilderment. Chanyeol would have laughed—if he wasn’t still fuming from Kyungsoo’s earlier comments. The two of them parted ways without exchanging goodbyes or any further words, and Chanyeol begged Frank to drive them home so he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the night avoiding Kyungsoo. 

That night as Chanyeol was climbing into bed, emotionally exhausted, Frank chattered about the party.

“I really like Patricia Eden,” he said as he placed his glasses on Chanyeol’s bedside table. “She’s a very nice person.”

Chanyeol made a noncommittal noise. He hadn’t necessarily gotten a “very nice” vibe from Patricia.

“She needs educating, that’s all,” Frank continued. 

“What?”

“She's hopelessly driven by money and power, but there's a chance for anyone who's that familiar with my work –”

Chanyeol turned away from Frank and busied himself staring at the bedroom wall while he tried to forget about every single thing that had happened that night. Once Frank had finished talking to himself he clicked the lamp off, and Chanyeol was left lying in the dark with his eyes open. 

**

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_Do you ever feel you become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora's Box of all the secret hateful parts --your arrogance, your spite, your condescension -- has sprung open. Someone provokes you, and instead of just smiling and moving on, you zing them. Hello, it's Mr. Nasty. I'm sure you have no idea what I'm talking about. I don’t even know what I’m talking about._

 

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_While you lost me with the “Mr. Nasty” bit, I do know what you mean. But I’m jealous!! When I’m provoked I get tongue-tied, my mind goes blank. Then I spend all night tossing and turning and trying to think of what I should have said._

 

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_Don’t lose too much sleep over it. When you finally have the pleasure of saying the thing you mean to say at the moment you mean to say it, you always end up feeling awful about it later._

**

**December, 1998**

It had yet to snow, but Chanyeol could feel change in the air and worry in his gut. The Shop Around The Corner was feeling emptier by the day. Yixing had helped him chop down a little pine tree to keep in the front window, and as they bustled around the tree hanging baubles and hand-made ornaments, Chanyeol noticed through the window the people walking by carrying bags from DO Books. 

“$1200 less than the same week last year,” Junmyeon announced. 

“That could be a fluke, right?” Yixing asked. Junmyeon’s expression was dark.

“Their store is new,” Chanyeol said. “It’s a novelty. Everything will work out. Should I put up more twinkle lights?”

“Can I put a Santa hat on Norman?” Yixing asked while gesturing to the large teddy bear currently sat in Chanyeol’s rocking chair. Chanyeol smiled. 

“Sure, Yixing.”

From the box of decorations Chanyeol carefully unwrapped a delicate glass ornament that held a small photo. Six-year-old Chanyeol smiled up at the camera while his mother held him in a tight hug.

 

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_This is such a weird Christmas. I miss my mom, who’s been dead for ten years. New York at Christmas is so loaded with things we used to do together. Going to see the Nutcracker, skating at Rockefeller Centre. I always miss my mom at Christmas, but somehow it’s worse this year, since I need some advice from her. My business is in trouble and I know she’d have something wise to say._

 

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_My mother took me skating as well. There’s something wonderfully carefree about it. Also, I was in the Nutcracker. I don’t know if I was very good, but I had a lot of fun. I liked to perform. Now I’m much more understated, I think. I still love to sing._

_My mother died when I was ten. I was staying with my father, who was not famous for intimacy, and whose way of breaking the news of her death was telling me she wouldn’t be picking me up this week like she usually did. It was a car accident. One likeness I seem to find between us is our tendency to hide our feelings--maybe a bit too well._

_As for business, that might be what I do best. I know we don’t share specifics about our jobs, but my general advice would be to fight for it. As hard as you can. If you have to, you can try to tell yourself that it’s not personal, it’s just business. I know you worry about being brave. This is your chance._

 

Chanyeol read the message over again to himself while he lay tucked in bed. His big sweater fell over his fingers, which were wrapped around a warm mug of tea. He wondered about NY152; who was he? Where was he? Was he thinking of Chanyeol as much as Chanyeol thought of him? Based on his emails Chanyeol had gathered he came from a rather well off but emotionally distant family. But he was so genuine, thoughtful, and kind. 

Chanyeol turned the advice over in his head: fight for it. _Fight for it_. 

He took one deep breath before raising his voice loud enough that Frank would hear from the next room.

“Frank, do you think it would be a gigantic conflict of interest if you wrote a piece about the shop?”

**

The next couple weeks were a whirlwind. With the publication of Frank’s article the shop was busier than it had been in ages, busier even than before DO Books opened. Yixing frantically fielded the calls that came in, wave after wave, of people offering words of support and encouragement. Chanyeol brushed his messy hair out of his face while he hurried to ring customers through.

“‘Chanyeol Park—and his mother before him—have raised your children,’” Junymeon read aloud from his newspaper. “‘If this precious resource is killed by the cash cow that is DO Books, it will not only be the end of Western civilization as we know it, but the end of something much dearer: our neighbourhood as we know it. Save The Shop Around The Corner and save your own soul.’ Frank, that’s—charming.”

“You think it’s a little over the top?” Frank asked. He was anxious for approval and swimming in the attention the article had gotten him. Junmyeon tried to hide his look of distaste. 

“Just say thank you…” 

“Hey, Chanyeol,” Yixing yelled from the front door. “Channel 2 is here.”

“Coming!”

“The Village Voice is coming too, and Channel 13 wants to do a special.”

“Oh my god. This is so great.” Chanyeol turned to face Junmyeon. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“This could actually work!”

**

The tinny sound of the shitty TV set apparently captivated Baekhyun, who watched intently as a reporter introduced the next guest. 

_“We’re here in front of The Shop Around The Corner, the famous West Side children’s bookstore now on the verge of having to close its doors because the big bad wolf, D.O. Books, has opened only a few hundred feet away, wooing customers with its sharp discounts and designer coffee.”_

“Can’t they at least get the goddamn name right?” Kyungsoo asked. He was lying supine on the floor of Baekhyun’s living room, close enough to the couch to have his legs sprawled out above him on a cushion. He had a throw pillow covering his face so his words came through muffled. 

“Nobody ever does their research, do they? Have you heard all these people calling it ‘D.O. Books’? Like it’s an acronym? For _what_?”

“Shh, he’s on,” Baekhyun replied. He probably had not listened to a word that Kyungsoo had said. Chanyeol’s deep voice rang through the room out of the TV’s tiny speakers.

_“They have to have discounts and lattes, because none of the owners have ever read a book.”_

Kyungsoo groaned. 

“He’s really feisty, huh?” Baekhyun asked. Kyungsoo resolutely tried to ignore the flush across his cheeks and was glad that Baekhyun wouldn’t be able to see it, considering the pillow covering his face. 

“More so in person,” Kyungsoo said quietly.

The pillow was suddenly pulled away from his face and he squinted at the brightness of the room. Baekhyun was looking down at him, wide-eyed and upside-down (from Kyungsoo’s perspective).

“You’ve met him?”

“I have, yeah.”

“Is he that hot in person?”

Kyungsoo wished he still had the protection of his pillow.

“He’s beautiful,” he said. A smile stretched across Baekhyun’s face.

“Oh? Does our boy have a crush on the competition?”

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo said quietly. He tried to push himself away from the couch with his feet but ended up spread-out uncomfortably on Baekhyun’s living room area rug. His cheeks burned.

“I knew it,” Baekhyun said smugly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyungsoo said. He propped himself up into a seated position, finally, and shook his head as if to clear Chanyeol’s pretty face from it. “He hates me. And anyway, I have a guy—uh.”

Baekhyun scooted closer with an excited glint in his eyes.

“I think you meant to say ‘I have a girlfriend, who I am dating currently,’ right?”

“I should really. Uh.”

“You should…?” Baekhyun prompted. Kyungsoo ran his hand through his hair and was silent for a moment.

“I should break up with her. You know, the other day she was making fun of me for reading _Jane Eyre_ again. She said it was ‘girly’.”

“Man. It’s the nineties for fuck’s sake. Does she know that? Does she even know you’re queer?”

“She knows. She doesn’t ever refer to it, though.” Kyungsoo looked down at his own hands in his lap. “Do you ever just…wake up one day and realize that the person you’re dating isn’t actually nice at all?”

“Yeah, once,” Baekhyun replied easily.

“And like, you thought she was smart and charming when you met her, but now you realize she really just hates everyone? And thinks it’s cool for that to be her default setting? And also, like, she’s maybe homophobic?”

There was a heavy pause.

“Dude,” Baekhyun said seriously—perhaps the most serious Kyungsoo had ever heard him. “You should break up with her.”

“Yeah.”

“So you can date Chanyeol.”

“ _No._ ”

“So you can date this other mystery guy, who you keep telling me you’re talking to, but refuse to say anything _about_.”

Kyungsoo bit his bottom lip.

“Well,” Baekhyun said, “let’s start with something easy: how did you meet?’

“It was in a chatroom, okay? We only email. I don’t know him.”

Baekhyun hummed thoughtfully before posing his next question:

“Does he send you nudes?”

“Baekhyun, I swear to god,” Kyungsoo said, reaching for his pillow to chuck it at his friend’s head. Baekhyun dodged skillfully.

“It’s a simple question!”

“No, he doesn’t.” Kyungsoo sighed “I don’t know his name; I don’t even know what he looks like. It’s not like that.”

“Yet,” Baekhyun added. 

Kyungsoo thought, for the millionth time, about HereandEyre, and about his incredibly charming writing. Again he wondered what he looked like—if his smile was as bright as his words. Maybe he was a writer. That would suit him, Kyungsoo thought. He wished he had a way to find out.

“I think…I might ask him to meet me,” Kyungsoo said. 

Baekhyun tackled him back to the floor with a delighted yell.

**

_From: NY152_  
_To: HereandEyre_

_Do you think we should meet?_

**

**January 1999**

Kyungsoo’s hands were shoved into his coat pockets as he rushed to keep up with Baekhyun. There was a chill in the night air; it felt like it might snow. Kyungsoo’s mind whirred incessantly. 

“I guess he’s carrying a book with a flower,” Baekhyun joked.

Kyungsoo was silent.

“Oh god, really?” 

“It’s _Jane Eyre_ ,” Kyungsoo said defensively. Baekhyun tried his best to hold in a snort of laughter because he knew Kyungsoo was vulnerable at the moment. Instead he chose to voice the concerns he’d been mulling over.

“Listen, what if he’s a hundred years old? What if he’s really weird? What if he tries to kill you?”

“You think I haven’t thought about that? That’s why we’re meeting here. And if he’s an old weird killer I don’t have to stay…” Kyungsoo sighed. “Why did I even ask to meet him? I’m ruining a good thing.”

“Hey,” Baekhyun said while he slung an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulder.”You’re just taking it to the next level. You really like him, right?”

“Baekhyun. This guy is the most adorable creature I have ever come in contact with. If he turns out to be true to his emails, I would be crazy not to turn my life upside down and marry him.”

“Fuck, you’re in deep.”

“ _I know._ ”

They arrived at a small café with charming twinkle-lights lining the windows and Kyungsoo’s palms started to sweat. His voice was high with panic when he spoke.

“I can’t do it. Will you go check? Go…look in the window and see if he’s there, and what he’s like.”

Baekhyun smiled excitedly—it would be his pleasure. He loved an excuse to be nosy, especially with Kyungsoo, who kept quite a bit to himself. He walked up the steps and tried to look as casual as possible while he peeked into the window.

“Do you see him?”

“Woah, there’s a really handsome guy—but he doesn’t have a book.”

“I don’t care about any guys who don’t have the book, Baekhyun, come on.”

“Yeah, yeah, let me see—oh, I see the book. _Jane Eyre_ , and a daisy. That must be him.”

“What does he look like?”

“There’s a waiter in the way, he’s serving him tea. Wait, there we go, he’s moving.”

“Can you see him?”

Baekhyun paused. For a guy that talked so much, his silence was unnerving. Especially when Kyungsoo was so nervous he felt like he could pass out on the sidewalk.

“Kyungsoo?”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo responded, strained. He bit his bottom lip.

“He…uh, he looks like Chanyeol Park.”

“Chanyeol Park of the bookstore? Well, he’s—” Kyungsoo paused to avoid saying something too embarrassing, like _he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, Baekhyun, he’s perfect_. He continued carefully. “He’s handsome.”

“Yeah, right, that’s what I was thinking. Only, uh, he looks like Chanyeol Park because he is. Chanyeol Park, I mean.”

“What?”

Kyungsoo rushed up the steps while simultaneously ducking, to keep as out-of-sight as possible. If anyone had been walking by they would have thought Kyungsoo looked ridiculous. Speaking of ridiculous, though: Baekhyun was right. Sitting alone at a table near the back, looking around hopefully (heartbreakingly hopefully), with a copy of _Jane Eyre_ and a daisy on the table, was Chanyeol Park. 

Shit.

“Shit,” Kyungsoo said. 

“What are you gonna do?” Baekhyun whispered, shoving Kyungsoo back out of sight. 

“Nothing.”

“You’re gonna leave him there?”

“Yes. No. Fuck, oh my god. No, you’re right, of course. I’m going in.”

Kyungsoo stood up straight with his fists at his sides, determined. He took a deep breath. 

“Thanks for coming, Baekhyun. Really. But you can go now.”

“Yeah, okay. Good luck. Call me later.”

Kyungsoo nodded, and then pushed open the door.

The small shop was a welcome warmth after waiting so long in the cold. It smelled like the perfect mix of coffee and fresh-baked pastries, which were displayed along the front counter. Small tables were packed tight into the space, and Chanyeol was sitting at one nearest the back corner. He looked stunning in a black turtleneck with his hair styled off his forehead. He didn’t notice that Kyungsoo was approaching until he had reached the table.

“Chanyeol Park. Hello. Mind if I sit?”

Chanyeol looked up with wide, earnest eyes, before realizing it was Kyungsoo. His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, actually, I do mind. I’m expecting someone.”

_Of course_ , Kyungsoo thought, _he would never believe that I could be the person he’s waiting for_. Kyungsoo gestured weakly to the book on the table.

“ _Jane Eyre_ ,” he said quietly. His voice sounded gruff to his own ears. He tried to relax as he continued. “I didn’t know you were a fan of the Brontës. Not that it’s a surprise, I mean. I bet you read it every year. I bet you love the drama of Rochester, huh?”

Kyungsoo knew the answers to these questions already because Chanyeol had told him about it in one of his emails. But Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed more; he assumed Kyungsoo was patronizing him.

“Would you please leave?” 

Kyungsoo hesitated a moment before pulling out the chair opposite Chanyeol and sitting down.

“I’ll stay until your friend gets here. Is he late?” 

He hadn’t meant to keep up the lie, but he felt that there was nothing else he could do. Chanyeol didn’t want to see him. Kyungsoo had no idea how this could work.

“I don’t read it for Rochester, just so you know,” Chanyeol said. “I read it for Jane. She’s brave and strong and highly relatable, not that you would know.”

Kyungsoo did know.

“I’ve read it, actually.”

Chanyeol was surprised. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Well, good for you,” he said.

“I think you’d discover a lot of things if you got to know me,” Kyungsoo offered. 

“If I knew you? I’m sure I’d find out that your heart is just a cash register.”

Kyungsoo looked put-out; but why should he be? He had no reason to expect Chanyeol’s kindness after what he had done. Or rather, not done.

“You didn’t have to lie to me like that,” Chanyeol continued quietly. “When we first met.”

“I didn’t lie to you—”

“Not telling me the truth counts as lying. I thought you were so charming, with your cute little brother. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to do it. I didn’t mean to make you upset. And hey, that wasn’t what I meant when I was talking about ‘bargain bins’, you know that.”

“Oh, you poor millionaire,” Chanyeol said sarcastically. “I feel so sorry for you” 

Kyungsoo felt frustration flair in his chest. Chanyeol’s eyes suddenly jumped to the door as a man entered, but the newcomer was joined by a woman who reached for his hand. Chanyeol’s face fell.

“I’m guessing that’s not the guy you’re waiting for either, is it?” Kyungsoo said harshly. “Who is he, I wonder? Will you be mean to him too?”

“No, because he’s nothing like you. He’s kind and funny and charming—”

“But he’s not here.” Kyungsoo pointed out with a smirk. 

“If he’s not here, he has a reason,” Chanyeol said slowly as he tried to hold back tears of frustration. “He doesn’t have a cruel or careless bone in his body. I’m not sure you would know anything about a person like that.”

Kyungsoo looked down at his hands, clenched into tight fists on his lap.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll go. Good luck with your business.”

Kyungsoo cursed internally when the words came out harsher than he had expected. He rushed out of the shop and started on the long, cold walk home, full of a mixture of regret and irritation, wishing he could be anybody else.

Chanyeol finally left the store at closing time. He felt heavy with disappointment. He tossed his daisy into a nearby trash can and climbed into the cab he had called earlier, when he still had hope. He thought of any number of reasons NY152 could have been delayed, lost, sick, injured. 

When Chanyeol dragged his feet over the threshold of his apartment he didn’t bother taking off his coat. He shuffled to his laptop immediately to check for any message he could have missed, anything that NY152 might have said while Chanyeol was away. But there was nothing.  
He fell into bed fully clothed and managed to pull the blanket halfway up his body before he felt tired down to his bones. He finally let himself cry.

**

Chanyeol couldn’t help being understated the day after he was supposed to meet NY152; not only was the no-show a huge disappointment, but he’d also thought himself in circles about how Kyungsoo Do had barged in. And Chanyeol was _mean_ to him. He hadn’t meant to be, but Kyungsoo had shown up at exactly the wrong time. It felt like he was mocking Chanyeol. Stomping to work, Chanyeol still felt frustrated about the whole thing.

When he arrived at the shop it was already unlocked, courtesy of Yixing, who was sitting on the back counter (which he was not supposed to be doing) swinging his feet. When the bell over the door chimed to announce Chanyeol, Yixing’s eyes snapped up immediately. He didn’t get off the counter, though.

“What happened?” Yixing asked immediately.

Chanyeol sighed. He regretted telling his colleagues about meeting the guy—only because he was embarrassed about what had happened. Chanyeol had figured it was a safety precaution in case he was meeting with a serial murderer. He hadn’t imagined this outcome.

“He never came.”

“He stood you up?” 

Chanyeol tucked his bag behind the counter, shrugging off his jacket. Yixing finally hopped off the counter.

“I think something happened,” Chanyeol said. “Something terrible and unexpected that made it impossible for him to—”

The bell above the door chimed again. It was Junmyeon this time, and he looked cozy in an oversized sweater, his wireframe glasses starting to fog up from the temperature change. Chanyeol counted one entire second before Junmyeon was asking the inevitable:

“What happened?” 

Chanyeol cast around his mind for a way to phrase the whole thing before he spoke.

“He wasn’t able to make it.”

“He stood you up,” Junmyeon said with a frown.

Chanyeol threw his hands up in the air.

“What could have happened?” Yixing directed at Junmyeon with a disbelieving expression. Junmyeon had dropped his bag on the table and unfolded the newspaper he brought with him every morning. 

“Maybe he took one look at me and left,” Chanyeol suggested, voicing it for the first time. It made his heart sink.

“Not possible,” Yixing said simply. The corner of Chanyeol’s mouth quirked up. Yixing was so sweet.

“Maybe there was a subway accident?” Chanyeol wondered.

“Yeah,” Yixing agreed excitedly, “and the train was trapped underground, and he didn’t have a phone!” 

“Guys?” Junmyeon said quietly, but went unheard between Chanyeol and Yixing’s conspiracy theories.

“Or he got in a car accident. He’s in the hospital with his arms in splints, can’t type.”

“Guys.”

The two of them gave their attention to Junmyeon at last as he laid his newspaper in front of them. The headline that proudly took up half the front page read “COPS NAB ROOFTOP KILLER”. 

“What are you saying?” Chanyeol asked, side eyeing Junmyeon.

“It could be.” Junmyeon said thoughtfully. “He was arrested two blocks from the café.”

“Well that explains it,” Yixing said, satisfied. 

“He was in jail,” Junmyeon added.

“And there _was_ a phone,” Yixing said, spinning around towards Junmyeon with his finger pointed in the air, a Conan Doyle-esque detective putting together clues. “But he only had one call, and had to use it for his lawyer.”

Junmyeon nodded eagerly and then sighed, turning back to Chanyeol.

“You are so lucky. You could be dead.”

Chanyeol had been staring at the headline with a slack jaw. He shook his head suddenly.

“This is ridiculous,” he said with conviction. “He’s not the _rooftop killer_.”

Junmyeon shrugged in a way that suggested he would continue thinking NY152 was the rooftop killer. Yixing was scrutinizing the photo that accompanied the article, but the man in the picture had his arms thrown up across his face. There was no telling what he looked like. 

“How long did you sit there alone?” Junmyeon asked Chanyeol with a frown.

“Oh, not long…Kyungsoo Do came in.”

“Kyungsoo Do!” Yixing said in high-pitched voice as he rounded on Chanyeol.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Chanyeol said quickly, and rushed off towards the back of the store, rearranging the science fiction section for no reason other than to appear busy. 

**

“He was provocative. The only nice thing about him was the…way his hair fell across his face...”

Kyungsoo trailed off while he remembered how lovely Chanyeol had looked in the café. 

Now that the newest DO Books location was open, fully functional, and (if Kyungsoo could say so himself) rather beautiful, Kyungsoo would normally prefer not to discuss his personal life in the middle of the store. Which is why he kept his tone low. Baekhyun hadn’t honed this particular skill.  
He flashed a look at Kyungsoo, who failed to notice, and decided at that very moment to play the role of the matchmaker to the best of his ability.

“But you know he’s a sweet guy. He’s just upset about his business, and you’re just upset about this shitty situation. Under that provocative exterior he’s—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Kyungsoo said quickly. 

Baekhyun shrugged and kept quiet, but stored the argument for a later date. 

**

_From: HereandEyre_  
_To: NY152_

_I’ve been thinking about you. Last night I went to meet you and you weren't there. I wish I knew why. While I waited someone else showed up, someone who has made my professional life miserable. You won’t believe it—I was able to say exactly what I wanted to, finally. And of course I felt terrible afterwards. Just like you said I would. I was mean, and I'm never mean! I can hardly believe what I said mattered to this guy -- but what if it did?_

_Anyway, you’re one of my closest friends, and I was really looking forward to meeting you. I hope you have a good reason for not being there last night, but if you don't, and if we never really connect again, I just want to tell you how much it has meant to me to know you._

**

Kyungsoo tried his hardest to avoid his laptop the day after the “date”—the day after he simultaneously stood Chanyeol up and got chewed out by him. Rightfully so, he thought bitterly. He had really messed everything up. He couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky he was that this anonymous guy who he’d been talking to for months, who he was pretty sure he was half in love with, turned out to be Chanyeol Park. Funny, lovely, and gorgeous Chanyeol Park. Kyungsoo would have been lucky if he was anyone other than himself. He must have been the last person in the world who Chanyeol wanted to be with. 

Kyungsoo _tried_ to avoid the laptop, but he inevitably found himself in front of the screen, his brow furrowed, his hands hovering over his keyboard. There had to be some way to fix this—something, anything. He was staring at a blank email addressed to HereandEyre. The cursor flashed at him. Mocking. Kyungsoo groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“I’m such an idiot.”

Taking a deep breath, his fingers returned to the keyboard. He typed out a single sentence.

_“I am in Vancouver.”_

He paused, and then scoffed, quickly deleting the pathetic excuse. He tried again:

_“I was stuck in a meeting, and there was no phone.”_

He stared at the screen for a moment before erasing the second half. 

_“I was stuck in a meeting, which I couldn’t get out of. The electricity went out in the building and we were trapped on the 18th floor, and the telephone system blew.”_

He paused again before adding a final touch:

_“Amazingly enough.”_

He groaned and quickly deleted the entire paragraph, muttering “fuck” under his breath. He brought a hand to his temple and rubbed slowly before running a hand through his hair. Behind him, laying on her bed, Applepie let out a sighing noise that sounded exactly how Kyungsoo felt. Finally, he steeled himself to tell the truth—or, at least, not lie.

 

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_Dear friend,_

_I can’t tell you what happened to me last night, but I beg you from the bottom of my heart to forgive me. I feel terrible that you found yourself in a situation that caused you additional pain. But I'm absolutely sure that whatever you said last night was provoked, even deserved. And everyone says things they regret when they're worried or stressed. You were expecting to see someone you trusted and met the enemy instead. The fault is mine. Someday I'll explain everything. Meanwhile, I'm still here. Please talk to me, if you want._

**

**February 1999**

Despite all the publicity from Frank’s article, despite every interview Chanyeol and Frank participated in, despite the protests and public reaction, The Shop Around The Corner was still not making enough of a profit. The numbers were at an all time low. The task of keeping the shop open had gone from difficult to nearly impossible. 

“You’re doing the brave thing,” Junmyeon told him. Chanyeol’s vision blurred from the tears that welled up in his eyes. Junmyeon hugged him tight and patted his back. 

By the time Chanyeol hung the sign on the front door, the one that read “CLOSING THIS WEEK: ALL STOCK 40% OFF” he had vowed to stop crying in front of customers. So far his odds were about 50/50; it didn’t help that every second customer had a heartwarming story about visiting the store when Chanyeol’s mother owned it. Chanyeol had managed to keep the actual tears in most of the time, which left him sniffing and his voice sounding thick, but which was better than sobbing on strangers. 

The shop felt busy and empty at the same time; busy with folks looking to snag a deal on the last of Chanyeol’s discounted stock, but the shelves empty of their previous colours. Norman the teddy bear had already been purchased. His rocking chair sat lonely, but somebody had inquired about buying it earlier in the day, and Chanyeol had agreed to the price. The twinkle-lights had been taken down.

An elderly woman with a kind smile approached the counter while Chanyeol was working the cash. She was holding a single book.

“I used to come here every Saturday with my daughter when she was little,” she said slowly while he rang through her purchase. “I’m sorry about everything, Chanyeol.”

“Thank you,” Chanyeol said with a sniffle. 

“What are you three planning on doing now?” she directed to the staff, and Yixing looked over from where he was bagging another customer’s purchase.

“I’m gonna start teaching dance classes,” he said excitedly. “I already got the job offer at the studio a few blocks up.”

“I got offered a job in the children’s section of DO Books, but I don’t know if I could take it…” Junmyeon said. He rubbed at his arm anxiously. “Even though Chanyeol said I should. It still feels like treason.”

“You _should_ take it, Junmyeon,” Chanyeol chimed in. “They need passionate and knowledgeable people like you. This isn’t their fault alone. The world is just…different.”

“What about you, dear?” the woman asked Chanyeol. Chanyeol furrowed his brow.

“I don’t know. I’m going to take some time. I did think about—well, it was always a dream of mine to write something.” 

**

“You know what one of my customers was telling me? She’s this sweet older lady, right—well, a lot of the customers that come in now are old, they want to reminisce about the shop. And mom. Well this lady, she was telling me about the first time she fell in love, right? And it was so grand but forbidden, like a real romance novel, and then another woman in line asked her who he was, and she said—Frank, I swear to god—she said: ‘he ran Spain. The country. That was his job, and then he died, just as well.’”

Frank stared at Chanyeol open-mouthed over the dining room table, which was littered with empty Chinese takeout boxes from dinner. It was technically date night. Frank had come over for dinner, like usual, but Chanyeol had felt weird all night. Restless, somehow. 

“She…she fell in love with _Generalissimo Franco?_ ”

“Well, she never _said_ it was Franco,” Chanyeol said. “I don’t know for sure.”

“Who else could it have been?”

Chanyeol sighed as he gathered all the garbage from the table and made his way to the kitchen.

“You’re right,” he said, raising his voice so Frank could still hear him one room over. “I know you’re right. Do you think she was telling the truth? She really seemed like she was telling the truth.”

“God, it’s not even like he was something normal, like a socialist or an anarchist or something. What kind of tourist gets to Spain and falls in love with the fascist dictator?”

“She seemed really kind…”

“I could never be with someone who didn’t take politics as seriously as I do.”

Chanyeol squirmed, opening his mouth and then closing it again. He felt the information on the tip of his tongue. He had worked so hard to keep this stupid secret for two years because he was worried what would happen if Frank knew. His hands rested palm-down on the kitchen counter, his back to the doorway into the dining room.

“I have something to tell you,” he said, turning around to meet Frank’s gaze. “I didn’t vote.”

“…What?”

“In the last mayoral election, I went to see a movie at the theatre and then I forgot to vote.”

“Since when do you go see movies alone?”

“Oh, I suppose you could never be with a guy who goes to see movies alone, either?”

Frank stood quickly and waved both hands in front of him, like he was trying to take back what he had said. 

“Forget it,” he said. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“You forgive me.”

Chanyeol crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his socked feet against the tile floor of the kitchen. 

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked. When Chanyeol didn’t answer or meet his eyes, he continued. “Look, I know this has been a big week, you’re closing the store—”

“It’s not that, really, it’s not. It’s just…Frank…”

“I know, that was terrible of me.”

Chanyeol finally looked up. “What was?” 

“To jump all over you when I’m the one who’s really…Oh god, I don’t know how to say this.”

“What is it?”

“You’re a wonderful person, Chanyeol.”

Frank took several steps closer until he was within touching distance, but kept his hands to himself. Chanyeol’s heartbeat sped up and his mind raced. 

“So are you,” he replied hesitantly.

“And I’m honoured you want to be with me, because I always thought you were someone who wouldn’t settle without striving for the best they could do, the best they could be—”

“I thought the same about you.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Frank said with a pained expression. “It makes this worse.”

“What?” Chanyeol asked. Frank averted his eyes. 

Chanyeol couldn’t believe this was happening—well, if what he thought was happening was, indeed, happening. He ducked his head to try to meet Frank’s gaze.

“You don’t love me?” he asked gently.

Frank shook his head no, and Chanyeol’s chest felt tight with excitement. 

“Really? Me either!”

Frank’s head shot up. He looked incredulous and excited at the same time, like he hadn’t imagined Chanyeol could be anything other than crushed by this news. Maybe six months ago he would have been, but now…it felt like best thing that had happened all month.

“You don’t love _me_?” Frank asked.

“No!”

“But we were so right for each other.”

Laughter bubbled out of Chanyeol. Frank smiled sheepishly back at him.

“Wait,” Chanyeol said between giggles, “it’s that guy who interviewed you last month, isn’t it? The one with the cable show who you were totally flirting with?”

Frank’s smile grew larger and more sheepish as he nodded.

“I mean, nothing happened,” Frank said. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.”

“Frank, I think he’s a republican.”

“I…can’t help myself.”

Chanyeol dissolved into laughter again, and this time Frank joined him. He was breathless and giddy and hopeful, for the first time since the New Year. Despite everything, every shitty little thing, at least this could be easy. 

“What about you? Is there someone else?”

Chanyeol paused to catch his breath. He realized he didn’t really know how to answer the question.

“No…” he started. “But there’s the hope of someone else, you know?”

**

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_My store is closing this week. I own a store, did I ever tell you that? It’s like a second home to me. In a week it’ll all be gone. I am being amazingly brave, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Someone will probably think it's a tribute to this city, the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. That's the sort of thing I'm always saying. But the truth is, I'm heartbroken. I feel like a part of me has died, and my mother has died all over again, and no one can ever make it right._

**

It was easy to see the appeal of DO Books when you were set up in a cushiony armchair tucked into a quiet corner; Kyungsoo figured there were independent stores across the country that had comfortable seating and a peaceful atmosphere for reading, but was glad regardless that his family’s chain was known for it. When it wasn’t known for being the—what had Chanyeol’s boyfriend called it? Ah, the ‘destroyer of independent bookshops’. 

After his morning meeting with Baekhyun earlier, Kyungsoo had just wanted to find a quiet place on the second floor to rest and observe for a bit. He picked a spot on the loft that overlooked the first floor and the center of the store, perfect for people-watching. He ended up doing less observing and more reading, though, when he picked up a coffee-table book full of photos from the set of a sci-fi movie he had enjoyed. He was in the middle of reading about the specifics of costuming when he caught a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, of someone he hadn’t been expecting to see. 

Chanyeol Park looked downcast and tired. When he pushed open the rotating front door he brought with him a breeze and a trail of snow, and he shivered, rubbing his own arms for warmth. Kyungsoo’s chest felt tight with anxiety. He automatically ducked further down in his seat. Honestly, all he wanted to do at that moment was talk to Chanyeol (and to warm him up) but he knew that Chanyeol wouldn’t welcome that.

Chanyeol ascended the grand staircase in the center of the floor and wandered towards the children’s section with wide eyes. As he took everything in Kyungsoo felt so guilty it was palpable, a strange taste in his mouth. Chanyeol sat down in a child-sized chair. He was so hilariously big for the tiny chair that Kyungsoo smiled sadly. 

Kyungsoo couldn’t hear what Chanyeol was saying from his position across the store, but he was engaged in conversation with an employee who seemed to be relaying Chanyeol’s words to a customer. He was probably using his impressive knowledge of children’s literature to help the customer find something that the employee couldn’t. When the customer seemed satisfied they followed the grateful employee towards a shelf on the far wall, and Chanyeol’s gaze returned to his lap. Kyungsoo was heartbroken to see tears falling quietly down Chanyeol’s cheeks before he stood, hastily wiping them away, and made his way out of the store with his head down.

Kyungsoo still spent every day looking forward to receiving emails from his correspondent, even moreso since the night he discovered that it was Chanyeol he had been talking to over the past months. If he had suspected the nature of his own feelings before, he was positive about them now. He found that he was very much in love with Chanyeol—through his e-mails, and through any brief encounters in the physical world, although those had been limited. Seeing Chanyeol so upset felt like driving nails into Kyungsoo’s own heart. He wanted to take care of Chanyeol. He wanted to make him feel okay—but he knew everything was his fault in the first place.

**

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From:NY152_

_I came home tonight and got into the elevator to go to my apartment. An hour later Applepie and I moved out. Suddenly everything had become clear. I broke up with my girlfriend, who I’ve been living with for several months--it's a long story. It’s been a long year. So much is changing now._

 

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_I wonder if change is like an infection. You start with one thing --something you never ever thought would change and it does -- and the next thing you know everything is unrecognizable. Six months ago, when you and I first met, I knew everything about myself -- what I would be doing for the rest of my life and even the person I would be doing it with. Now I know nothing. And I think I’m coming down with a cold._

 

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_Maybe change is contagious, too. Just like a cold. Are you feeling any better?_

 

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_I feel like shit! I can’t breathe out of my nose and it’s running constantly. I really need a hug, I think. Or someone to take care of me. Or both._

**

Kyungsoo only hesitated on the steps of Chanyeol’s building for a few minutes before he rang the buzzer. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, bouquet of flowers in hand, until a response came. 

“Who is it?” 

Kyungsoo leaned in towards the speaker hesitantly.

“Kyungsoo Do.”

“Wh—what are you doing here?” Chanyeol’s slightly panicked, definitely congested voice crackled through the speaker. 

“May I please come up?”

In his third floor apartment, Chanyeol turned in a tight circle and took in the mess that was his apartment. Tissues—used, half-used—lay on every surface. He put his head in his hands. Of course Kyungsoo Do would show up when Chanyeol looked and felt like he’d been run over by a bulldozer. He took a breath, pressed the speaker’s button again, and spoke quickly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I’ve got a really bad cold. I’ve been sleeping all day, and I’m all…snotty. I’ve just been surviving on chicken soup and lots of water and, um, hope. So if you could come some other time—”

A small knock at the door startled Chanyeol so much that he jumped. He cursed inwardly; someone must have let Kyungsoo in the front door. 

“Chanyeol?” a gentle voice called from the other side of the door.

“Just a second!” Chanyeol responded frantically.

He looked down at his outfit, which included his rattiest sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with—fuck—a stain on it. Chicken soup. He snatched up one of his hoodies and pulled it over his head. He kept up a string of curses under his breath as he rushed to grab snotty tissues and shove them into the front pocket of his sweater. His final glance in the mirror by the door showed a bright red nose and an absolute mess of hair. He pulled open the door. 

“Hello,” Kyungsoo said. He looked ridiculously handsome.

“Hi,” Chanyeol said. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were sick. I was worried, and I wanted to—is someone here?”

“Huh?” 

Chanyeol thought for a second that maybe somebody was in his house, and had been this entire time without him noticing, waiting to kill him. They must have taken advantage of his fuzzy sick brain. He was about to grab something to arm himself, like a candlestick, when he recognized Meryl Streep’s voice coming from the other room. He realized what Kyungsoo was referring to.

“Oh, no,” Chanyeol said, “I’m watching a romance movie. Don’t scare me like that! I thought there was a murderer in here.”

Kyungsoo’s small smile was stunning, which was completely unfair.

“Hey,” Chanyeol said, narrowing his eyes. “You put me out of business.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Kyungsoo’s face fell.

“I know,” he replied.

“And now you’re here. Are you trying to gloat? Or offer me a job?”

“No, I—”

“Because I’ve already had a job offer, actually, from your girlfriend—”

“Former,” Kyungsoo said, cutting Chanyeol off. Chanyeol paused. 

“Former?” he repeated.

“We broke up.”

“That’s too bad,” Chanyeol said coolly. “You seemed so perfect for each other.” 

There was two seconds of silence before Chanyeol covered his mouth with his hand.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to say—no matter what you’ve done, there’s no excuse for me to say stuff like that.” He took a breath to compose himself before continuing. “Let me try again: thanks for coming. Goodbye.”

He could have closed the door in Kyungsoo’s face. Maybe he should have. But in his flustered, sick state, he just turned around and walked away from his front door. He supposed he expected Kyungsoo to see himself out, but Kyungsoo didn’t do anything of the sort. 

“I bought you flowers.”

Chanyeol turned slowly to face Kyungsoo again. He eyed the wrapped package in his hands.

“Let me put them in water,” Kyungsoo added quickly, closing the door behind him as he made his way straight to the kitchen. 

Chanyeol trailed behind in disbelief. Not only had his hot enemy shown up at his house, but the same enemy had just invited himself in. Chanyeol did love flowers, though. He watched Kyungsoo check the kettle on the stove and find it empty. Kyungsoo made sudden eye contact, which made Chanyeol want to avert his eyes.

“You’re sick. Please sit down,” Kyungsoo said, gesturing to the armchair Chanyeol had been curled up in before he had arrived. 

Supposing this was a good idea, Chanyeol sat. He only realized the he’d been feeling weak after he was seated. He was grateful that at least he hadn’t fainted. His head was swimming; what on earth was going on? And why wasn’t he more upset about it? He felt, in some way, distinctly pleased to have Kyungsoo here, despite everything.

From this vantage point he could sort of see Kyungsoo puttering in the kitchen, still wearing his black peacoat and scarf. He was boiling water.

“Do you have a vase?” he called. 

“Yeah, um, bottom cupboard on the right.”

Kyungsoo was beside him then, placing the vase on the table. It was full of daisies. Chanyeol’s smile stretched involuntarily across his face.

“Daisies! I love them.”

“You told me,” Kyungsoo replied quietly.

“They’re so friendly. Don’t you think they’re the friendliest flower?”

Back in the kitchen, Kyungsoo laughed softly before agreeing.

“Hey Kyungsoo? When did you break up?” 

“Um, a couple weeks ago.”

“Man, everyone’s breaking up,” Chanyeol said. He let his head fall against the back of the chair. “You, me, and my friend, he was just telling me how he broke up with his awful girlfriend in an elevator. Actually, when I saw you at the café I was waiting for him, and I was…” 

Chanyeol trailed off. He had lost his train of thought. A familiar sadness vibrated his heart and a familiar smell tickled his nose—chamomile tea. Kyungsoo piped up to fill Chanyeol’s silence.

“You were charming.” 

“I was _not_ charming.”

“Well,” Kyungsoo said quietly, handing him a mug of tea, “you looked charming.”

Oh. Chanyeol blushed. He curled his fingers around the warm mug, grateful to have a distraction, an excuse to avoid Kyungsoo’s eyes. 

“I was upset. I was horrible.”

“ _I_ was horrible,” Kyungsoo countered. 

“Yeah, you’re right. You were mean.”

Kyungsoo dropped onto the couch across from Chanyeol. He finally let his coat fall from his shoulders and Chanyeol was surprised to see that he was wearing a simple black t-shirt. He had come to expect that Kyungsoo was one of those businessmen who always wore button-down shirts and suit jackets no matter what the occasion. This was much better, though, since Chanyeol could see Kyungsoo’s biceps— _not_ that he was looking. 

“I put you out of business. You’re entitled to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Chanyeol said, and it was true. Hating people was exhausting. He wasn’t hardwired for it. 

“Okay, you don’t hate me. But you’ll never forgive me.”

“That’s…never is a long time.”

Kyungsoo shook his head a little bit, as if it was a gesture for himself rather than Chanyeol.

“I didn’t mean for it to…” he started, but paused. “It wasn’t personal.”

“Right, it was business.” Chanyeol frowned. “That’s bullshit, you know. That just means it wasn’t personal to you. It was personal to me. And what’s wrong with personal, anyway? I mean, whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.” 

Making eye contact with Kyungsoo again, Chanyeol saw that he was biting his bottom lip. He was too much, really. Chanyeol needed to lie down. 

“Um,” he said, “I’m feeling exhausted again. I need to go back to sleep.”

When he moved to stand Kyungsoo shot up to offer his arm, like Chanyeol was about to fall over. Chanyeol declined. He grabbed his mug of tea in one hand and the vase of daisies in the other and shuffled towards his bedroom. He placed both items gently on his bedside table, and was surprised to see that Kyungsoo had followed him into his room. He couldn’t be bothered to mind. He fell directly into bed. 

“Why did you come, Kyungsoo?” he asked sleepily, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“I wanted to be your friend.”

“Oh.” 

Chanyeol’s heart jumped a bit in his chest. This was, perhaps, the answer he expected the least. He wondered if they could make it work—Kyungsoo Do whose business had ruined Chanyeol’s life, whether he meant for it to happen that way or not. Well, maybe ruined was a bit strong. ‘Disrupted’ worked better. But he had seemed so sweet the first time they met, and Chanyeol had so hoped that he would return, before he found out about his business.

“Hey,” Kyungsoo said gently, “what happened to the guy you were supposed to meet at the café?”

Chanyeol made a small whiney noise and pulled the blanket over his head. He wasn’t about to get into the whole story about being stood up when he already looked this pathetic, so he told a lie that wasn’t necessarily a lie:

“Nothing.”

“But you’re crazy about him.”

Chanyeol’s eyes appeared over the edge of the blanket. He looked at Kyungsoo, who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. It seemed like he was consistently surprising Chanyeol with how intuitive he was, and Chanyeol was blushing again.

“I am,” he admitted quietly.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“I…I don’t actually know him.” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“We met on the internet,” Chanyeol said, embarrassed. “I don’t even know his name.”

Kyungsoo hummed and pushed himself away from the door frame, moving to sit on the edge of Chanyeol’s bed instead, only a few inches away from Chanyeol’s legs under the blanket. His heart was beating too fast for his fragile health. He wondered fleetingly if Kyungsoo knew what he was doing.

“Well,” Kyungsoo said slowly, “I’m happy for him, then.”

Chanyeol’s heartbeat kicked it up a notch when Kyungsoo started tucking the blanket in around his curled frame with a soft expression. He must have known what he was doing. One does not tuck a man in without intent.

“But I think you should meet each other,” Kyungsoo added. 

Chanyeol huffed, annoyed, because Kyungsoo didn’t understand that they had _tried_ to meet, or at least Chanyeol had tried. The guy hadn’t shown up. He opened his mouth the protest, but Kyungsoo put his index finger softly against Chanyeol’s lips. It effectively stopped his remark.

He remembered hearing once that the lips had the most nerve endings in the body, relative to their size, and he figured now that it was true, because Kyungsoo’s finger against his lip kept sending little electric currents through his body. It seemed that it was a good day for blushing.  
Even Kyungsoo seemed taken aback to find himself initiating the touch. He quickly pulled his finger away, and Chanyeol swallowed loudly in the quiet room. Kyungsoo’s voice broke the silence.

“I just…didn’t want you to say something harsh, and then regret it. I’m not worth that.”

The two of them looked at each other for a moment more before Kyungsoo stood, flustered. He looked away.

“I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks for the daisies,” Chanyeol said quietly. 

“Rest up, okay? Take care of yourself. Eat well.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll…see you.”

Kyungsoo backed out of the room with a final look at Chanyeol. When Chanyeol heard the front door close he let out a huge sigh. 

**

**March 1999**

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I think we should meet._

 

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_We should meet. And we will meet. But I’m in the middle of a project right now that needs…tweaking._

 

“Tweaking?”

“That’s what he said,” Chanyeol supplied weakly. Kyungsoo looked dubious.

The two of them were perched on bar-stools by the large front window at Starbucks—the location nearest Chanyeol’s place. Chanyeol had been typing up tentative plot points for his tentative YA novel idea when Kyungsoo had spotted him through the window, and soon enough they were having coffee together. Chanyeol indulged himself for a moment by imagining that it was a date. Kyungsoo looked as gorgeous as always. Chanyeol was pleased to see him in casual clothes for the second time, especially since the weather was mild enough as of late for Kyungsoo to have forgone a jacket completely. There was something so attractive about a simple white t-shirt on Kyungsoo. 

“He’s probably married.”

Chanyeol snapped back to attention, his eyes moving from Kyungsoo’s torso to his face, which was impassive. He had never considered the possibility. 

“Have you asked him if he’s married?” Kyungsoo said.

“No...but he’s not _married_. Don’t you think he would’ve told me?”

Kyungsoo shrugged.

 

_To: NY152_  
_From: HereandEyre_

_I know it’s probably a little late to be asking this, but are you married?_

 

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_Am I married? What kind of question is that? Don’t you know me at all? Oh, I get it—your friends are telling you the reason we haven’t met yet is that I’m married. Am I right?_

**

Chanyeol brandished a sheet of paper at Kyungsoo, who looked surprised at the peculiar greeting. 

“He e-mailed back,” Chanyeol said by way of explanation. Kyungsoo smiled in a way that looked as if he was trying not to laugh out loud.

“You printed out his e-mail?”

“Well—yeah, I wanted you to see, and I didn’t want to forget any bits.”

Chanyeol finally sat down then. He was across from Kyungsoo at a small two-person table in the deli where they had decided to meet for lunch. 

“Can we resume after we’ve got our sandwiches?” Kyungsoo asked. Chanyeol’s stomach grumbled in agreement. 

After explaining how he had asked about the whole marriage thing (through mouthfuls of pastrami on rye) Chanyeol eagerly watched Kyungsoo’s face while he read through the e-mail.

“He didn’t exactly answer, did he?” Kyungsoo asked.

“He did too! He knew exactly what I was up to, which is just like him.”

“But he didn’t answer the question.” 

“Well—no, he didn’t.” 

“Why wouldn’t he want to meet you?” Kyungsoo asked with furrowed brows. “You’re lovely.” 

Giddiness swelled in Chanyeol’s chest at the compliment. He hoped he had managed to play off his blush well enough; Kyungsoo didn’t look like he had noticed, at least, since he was taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“Maybe…” Kyungsoo started again, but paused.

“What?”

“Maybe he’s waiting until he’s paroled.”

“Oh my god, you’re just like Junmyeon. He really thought the guy was the rooftop killer.” 

“What’s his handle?” Kyungsoo asked, and Chanyeol shook his head vehemently. Kyungsoo leaned in closer.

“C’mon,” he said, “I won’t write him. I just want clues.”

“Okay,” Chanyeol said slowly. “Fine. It’s NY152.”

“Interesting…one hundred and fifty-two. He’s a hundred and fifty-two years old.”

Chanyeol snorted and narrowly avoided choking on a bite of bread. Clearing his throat a couple times, he shook his head. 

“Or it could be his combined SAT score,” Kyungsoo offered. 

“It could be his IQ!”

Kyungsoo was smiling at him in a way that made his stomach feel fluttery. His hand was close to Chanyeol’s own sweaty hand on the table, and Chanyeol didn’t dare move. 

“Hey, how’s your novel coming?” Kyungsoo asked. Chanyeol felt relieved to have a chance to take his mind off of how his index finger was exactly one centimeter from Kyungsoo’s, and the implications of that centimeter.

“Better than expected, actually. I’ve got a pretty solid idea of the first half of the plot, and I’m having a really good time working on the characters.”

“Am I allowed to know more about it?”

“Of course. So I told you it’s kind of a…um, a magical boy situation. It’s about this fifteen-year-old boy who discovers this entrance to a fantasy world in the forest behind his house, and he realizes he has these powers, so he’s trying to figure that out. And then he also has a crush on the elf boy he meets in the other world and he’s trying to figure that out too.”

Kyungsoo’s smile turned his eyes crescent-shaped and made Chanyeol’s heart erratic in his chest. 

“It sounds great, Chanyeol. I can’t wait to read it. I always thought writing suited you.”

“Oh, please, you haven’t really known me for _that_ long.” 

Kyungsoo bit his bottom lip. He looked a bit nervous, actually—he moved his hand off the table and straightened up, pulling away from Chanyeol, who felt the loss acutely.

“Right, sure” Kyungsoo said quietly. “Of course.”

**

**April, 1999**

Against all odds, Kyungsoo’s desire to be Chanyeol’s friend had been fulfilled—and it seemed like it was hardly against any odds at all, when Chanyeol thought about it, as long as he conveniently forgot about how Kyungsoo’s store had put him out of business. Even that didn’t seem so bad anymore. Chanyeol found that he was able to funnel his creativity into writing in a way he never had been able to do with anything, and he loved the satisfaction of it. He guessed he owed it to DO Books. 

He and Kyungsoo clicked better than he ever could have hoped. For weeks they had spoken nearly every day. On the phone at night they would spend hours talking, and would often invite each other out for meals to continue conversations. There was also the fact that they kept meeting while they were out in the neighbourhood; Chanyeol didn’t even know exactly where Kyungsoo lived, but it must have been in the area if he saw him around so much. He wondered if they were drawn together in some cosmic way, like it had something to do with destiny, but he supposed he was reading too much into it. That didn’t stop him from thinking it, though. 

Chanyeol had been browsing around the farmer’s market for ingredients when he noticed Kyungsoo walking ahead of him, instantly recognizable from his silhouette (Chanyeol would’ve known that back anywhere). 

“Hey, Kyungsoo!”

Chanyeol had caught up with him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Kyungsoo turned, surprised, but smiled when he realized who was calling him. 

“Hey, what are you up to?”

Kyungsoo drew him in for a hug. Chanyeol always looked forward to these moments, as short as they were. When the two of them separated they started to walk side by side through the market.

“I was getting stuff for dinner. What about you?”

“Actually, Junho’s staying with me for a few days, so I was picking some vegetables up for dinner as well. He wanted to cook with me.”

“Oh my god, that’s so cute. Have you ever cooked together before?”

“No, and I’m sure he’s never cooked with our parents.” Chanyeol nodded; it had taken Kyungsoo quite a while to broach the subject, but he _had_ spoken about his (rather detached) family. 

“That’ll be so fun. You get to teach him everything! I’m sure you’ll be a great teacher.”

“You think?” Kyungsoo asked with a smile.

“Of course. Hey, guess what? There’s a children’s book editor I know, from the store? She wants to look at my novel when I’m done.” 

“Wow, that’s a great opportunity,” Kyungsoo said. “You know I can connect you to some people in publishing, right?”

Chanyeol looked at Kyungsoo wide-eyed.

“You’d…is that okay? Really?”

“Of course it’s okay. I’d love to do it for you.” 

Chanyeol slung his arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulder with a grateful smile. When Kyungsoo placed a hand on his waist in return Chanyeol laughed—the kind that fights its way out of you, like you can’t physically contain so much happiness. 

“Who would’ve thought that I would write?” Chanyeol wondered aloud. “I mean, if I didn’t have all this free time, I wouldn’t have ever…”

Chanyeol paused. Kyungsoo tilted his head and looked up at him. 

“The truth is that he was the one who made me think…maybe I could write.”

“Ah,” Kyungsoo said knowingly, “Mister one hundred and fifty-two felony indictments.”

“Mister…one hundred and fifty-two insights into my soul.”

Kyungsoo snorted, which made Chanyeol dissolve into giggles as well.

“God, sorry, that was really gay.” 

Kyungsoo nodded. “Yeah, it was. It was good.”

“We keep bumping into each other,” Chanyeol pointed out with a smile.

“Want to bump into me on Saturday? Around lunchtime?”

“I’d love to.” 

**

_To: HereandEyre_  
_From: NY152_

_How about meeting Saturday? 4 P.M. There's a garden in Riverside Park between 90 and 91st streets. You’ll find me waiting there._

**

“I’m meeting NY152 today.”

Chanyeol had interrupted Kyungsoo in bringing a forkful of food to his mouth, and the fork was now suspended in the air. 

“Today?”

“Yep. At four.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I know. In Riverside park.”

Kyungsoo set down his fork. The two of them were sitting side by side on a park bench quite near Chanyeol’s apartment. They were making their way through the food they’d gotten from a halal cart, and Chanyeol was almost too nervous to eat. Almost. 

“Maybe I’ve seen him and I didn’t even know it,” Kyungsoo said with a playful smile. “Maybe he’s that guy we see sometimes who carries his cat around in his backpack. You’d probably be thrilled about that, though.”

“Kyungsoo, that guy’s got to be seventy years old.”

“Sure, but he’s got the cat.”

Chanyeol laughed and bumped his shoulder against Kyungsoo’s.

“Nah. This guy’s got a dog.”

“Timing is everything, you know,” Kyungsoo said thoughtfully. “He waited until he was sure there was nobody else…you could love.”

Chanyeol swallowed thickly. He suddenly felt like his entire nervous system was hanging on to Kyungsoo’s words. 

“Sometimes I wonder…” Kyungsoo began, before trailing off. He cast his gaze downward. 

“What?”

When Kyungsoo’s gaze met Chanyeol’s again it felt heavy. 

“If I hadn’t been DO Books, and you hadn’t been The Shop Around The Corner—if we’d just met—”

“I—”

“I would have asked for your phone number. And I wouldn’t have been able to wait twenty four hours before calling and asking, ‘How about coffee, drinks, dinner, a movie. For as long as we both shall live?’”

“ _Kyungsoo._ ”

“And then we would never have been at war.”

“No.”

“The only fight we’d ever have is what video to rent on Saturday night.”

“Who fights about that,” Chanyeol asked, sniffling. He wiped at his eyes hastily, but Kyungsoo gently reached for his hand and pulled it away from his face. With his other hand he moved to wipe at Chanyeol’s tears with his thumb. 

“Some people,” he said quietly. “Not us.”

“We would never.”

There was a long pause in which the only sound was Chanyeol’s sniffles. Kyungsoo didn’t break their eye contact, and Chanyeol didn’t want to either. He didn’t even want to move. He wanted to stay exactly there, with one of Kyungsoo’s hands on his cheek and the other holding one of Chanyeol’s hands. He had a date, though. 

“I have to go,” he said. His voice broke.

“Right. You don’t want to be late.”

**

Chanyeol didn’t understand why everything had to be so hard. Why couldn’t NY152 have shown up the first time, at the café? And why didn’t he cut Chanyeol off after that, let him get on with his life, instead of deciding to meet for real now that Chanyeol felt…well, now that Chanyeol had Kyungsoo. Not that they were together. At least, Chanyeol didn’t think so. But maybe—

“Augh, shut up,” Chanyeol muttered to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair. 

At least the weather was nice, he thought as he walked along the park’s path towards 91st street. He could see garden up ahead. The crabapple trees had leaves and some even had pink and white flower buds on their branches, waiting patiently. Beneath them, a colourful mixture of irises, peonies, and tulips. But Chanyeol didn’t have eyes for the flowers.

There were several passersby and Chanyeol stared at every single one of them. He’d arrived early; NY152 had said four in his e-mail, and it was almost four now. A few joggers ran past. One couple holding hands strolled slowly along the path. A man with a stroller caught Chanyeol’s eye, but he was gone before Chanyeol had a chance to be properly nervous. This is stupid, he thought. He couldn’t believe he had been dragged into this again, it was just like last time, it was just—

The sound of barking startled Chanyeol out of his thoughts. An old, fluffy dog was lumbering towards him with its nose to the ground, eagerly sniffing. 

“Hey, buddy,” Chanyeol said with a smile. He knelt down and called the dog over. It approached, rested its chin on Chanyeol’s knee, and happily submitted to being pet. Chanyeol was glad to have a distraction in the best form possible. 

“Where’s your owner?” he asked the dog, who let out a sound like a sigh. It was wearing a collar and looked well taken care of, so whoever owned it must be around somewhere. 

“Applepie!”

Chanyeol’s head snapped up. 

Kyungsoo was walking towards him carrying a dog’s leash in his hand. Chanyeol knew that it was Kyungsoo before he had even looked up, of course, by his voice alone. He thought he might’ve been mishearing though; Kyungsoo didn’t have a dog, did he? Especially not a dog named—

“Applepie?” Chanyeol asked the dog quietly. She licked at his hand and wagged her tail. 

Kyungsoo held out his hand to help Chanyeol up from his kneeling position, and Chanyeol took it, feeling absolutely dazed. 

“Hi,” Kyungsoo said. His voice was warm and familiar. Chanyeol knew he was staring.

“Kyungsoo?”

“Yeah, good eye,” Kyungsoo joked. “This is my dog, Applepie. You’ve heard about her.”

“You…you’re…”

“NY152. You’re HereandEyre.”

And for the second time that day Chanyeol was crying in front of Kyungsoo; for the second time Kyungsoo was wiping his tears. Kyungsoo wrapped his arms around Chanyeol, gathering him against his chest. Chanyeol let his head fall against Kyungsoo’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Kyungsoo said softly. “Everything’s fine.” Chanyeol took a shaky breath.

“I wanted it to be you,” he said against Kyungsoo’s temple. “I wanted it to be you so badly.”

He pulled away from Kyungsoo’s embrace just enough to be able to look at him again. To take in the fact that this was real, that Kyungsoo was right here, and that all of Chanyeol’s big, warm feelings had been for him the whole time.

Kyungsoo leaned in, tilting his head upwards. Chanyeol moved closer at the same time. For a moment they were still, with their eyes closed, their lips _just_ touching, just enough to almost tickle. Then Chanyeol angled his head and closed the millimeter gap between them. He pressed earnestly against Kyungsoo’s lips, losing himself in the kiss. Kyungsoo brought a hand to Chanyeol’s face. His thumb ran across Chanyeol’s cheekbone. 

Chanyeol took a deep breath when the separated. Kyungsoo was looking up at him, beaming, and Chanyeol couldn’t help beaming back.

“Okay?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Much better than okay,” Chanyeol replied. Kyungsoo was still cradling his face in his hand, and his thumb moved softly over the apple of Chanyeol’s cheek while he smiled. 

“I can’t believe you made me wait so long,” Chanyeol added. “I could’ve been petting your dog for months.”

While Kyungsoo laughed Chanyeol wrapped his arms tighter around his waist and tucked his head against his Kyungsoo’s, flushed, smiling, and in love.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe…this was supposed to be a fun little one for the holidays but it’s the longest thing I’ve published yet and it's also not the holidays anymore. you’ve got mail is my fav romcom though. If you’re commenting I’d love to know if you’ve seen the movie or not!! Thank u to ash for betaing as always and for helping me with the specifics. Thanks to sun, applepie is inspired by leo from OFSDS :~)


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